


deprecated

by Unpretty



Series: Magical Girl Avengers [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unpretty/pseuds/Unpretty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This work is to be replaced with a new and improved version, and remains online for purposes of posterity only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Antoinette Stark

Toni Stark was used to no one taking her seriously.

It had started when she was thirteen, and she had programmed the world's first true AI – _sentient_ AI, at that. And the headlines had read: **GIRL GENIUS COOKS UP VIRTUAL BOYFRIEND**. As if JARVIS would have been anyone's idea of a dream date. Then there'd been her father's funeral, when they'd said **BIG GIRLS DON'T CRY**. She'd ousted his patronizing shit of a second-in-command, and newspapers declared that she **GETS OUT TOUGH STANES**. She shifted the focus of Stark Industries from weapons to next generation energy sources, communications, and medical tech. How had they phrased it? **DADDY'S LITTLE GIRL HAS BIG DREAMS**. She'd bought up some of the biggest names in the tech industries – from some of the biggest assholes she'd ever met, but that was incidental – and newspapers referred to it as a _shopping spree_.

She was a grown-ass woman and the CEO of one of the world's biggest and most terrifying megacorporations, and they still wouldn't stop calling her a girl. If nothing else, they were doing a disservice to her _stunning_ rack.

Toni Stark had just thrown a nuclear warhead into a wormhole, and she was about to die with the knowledge that some newspaper, somewhere, would make the title of their story **SO MUCH FOR GIRL POWER**.

She wasn't actually entirely conscious – or, she didn't think she was. She wasn't used to her brain not working properly without drinking first, but the ground seemed to be coming up far too fast. Or was it too slow? She wished she hadn't been such a bitch to Captain America. It had never been her fault, not any of it. Toni didn't believe in ghosts, or an afterlife, but if she had one she was going to have to apologize for that. She'd actually based her costume – hers and everyone else's – on Cap's. The skirt and the flounces were a nice _fuck you_ to the 'girl' contingent, but it was also just that it looked... heroic. Something about a woman in a circle skirt and petticoats would always say _heroism_ to Toni, and that was definitely Steph's fault. Sure, it wasn't very aerodynamic, but neither were _people_.

JARVIS was saying something, but she couldn't actually process what it was. He was probably trying to bring her to her senses. It was a bit late for that, really. He sounded almost _panicked_. She hadn't known he could do that. One of these days she'd have to poke at his databases and see what else he'd learned.

Except, wait – she was about to die, wasn't she? That was why he sounded panicked in the first place. She was going to have to die curious, which sounded like just about the worst thing she could think of.

Then there was silence, and it occurred to Toni with some surprise that she'd stopped falling. Even more surprising was that she still seemed to have a consciousness. If she _was_ dead, someone had a lot of explaining to do.

Someone slipped the gold mask off her face, and the air outside it smelled like dust and smoke and ozone. "Toni?" The voice was trying to sound measured, but it was slipping, turning deep and resonant, and she cracked her eyes open just the slightest bit.

"I think I'm going to need mouth to mouth," she croaked, and Dr. Blythe Banner grinned so wide she could have swallowed Toni whole. Toni decided not to mention that Blythe looked bigger than usual, because 'you look extra Hulk-y today' didn't seem like to appropriate response to a rescue. She was shrinking down, anyway, now that she knew Toni was safe – back to her usual _huge_ instead of _massive_ , a slightly darker shade of green. Toni was glad she'd accounted for potential stretching in the doctor's dress, which seemed like a silly sort of thing to worry about right now but was the sort of thing Toni worried about a lot.

Hulk was crouched in the middle of an intersection, holding Toni's head off the concrete. Normally Toni wouldn't consider this an acceptable spot for a lay-down, but today it wasn't any more dangerous than anywhere else in the city. She tried not to think about the buildings she'd seen collapsing, tried not to think about all the people that had surely been in them. The transparent overlays that Toni wore as contacts told her that Thor was incoming with Loki in tow, Brown Recluse and Hawkeye were a unit as usual, and Cap – she wasn't really sure what Cap was doing. God only knew, with her. Possibly she'd stopped to get a kitten out of a tree. She reached up and tapped a spot on her 'necklace', a capacitive _need-JARVIS-now_ button. "Status?"

JARVIS, being very clever, knew exactly what she meant. "You've broken two ribs, your left leg, sprained both your wrists and sustained a concussion, Miss. You do not appear to have any fatal injuries, but I recommend immediate medical attention."

"You're just saying that because you can't wait to manhandle me."

"I am as you made me, Miss." Toni laughed, at that, because it always surprised her when JARVIS said that sort of thing. Never mind that he'd be a very poor learner, indeed, if he couldn't handle her compulsive flirtations – it just seemed so strange for a butler, to say nothing of a robot hivemind butler. All of her creations felt like extensions of herself, except that it was slightly more acceptable to argue with your robots than your arm. When they managed to surprise her, it was always… well, _surprising_. It pleased her inordinately, remembering that she'd made a person without ever having to host a parasite.

"Everything okay, Stark?" Brown Recluse was jumping off a building and doing some kind of entirely unnecessary _flip_ maneuver, and damn the man if his tuxedo weren't still pristine. Hawkeye wasn't far behind, and if she restrained a snarky comment it was only because Hulk still looked like a kid with her favorite teddy bear.

"JARVIS says I'm good to go for lunch. We all agreed on shawarma, right? I think I remember that happening. You remember that, right, Hulkamina?"

"Who am I to argue with Iron Lass?" she said, which really meant _we will do whatever you want and no one will argue because I'm huge and green_.

(Toni was still mad that Iron Lady was taken.)

"I don't actually know what that is," pointed out Captain America, who was stepping over some rubble to join the afterparty. Light was streaming down behind her, and Toni wondered if always looking like a propaganda poster was one of her powers. There was soot on her face, and her hair had fallen out of its pigtails to fall in curls around her face; her dress and her stockings had torn here and there, and somehow it only made her look _better_. Toni pressed another button on her neck, and JARVIS took a picture from the camera in her circlet.

"I'll have a poster-sized print sent to Agent Coulson's hospital room, Miss," JARVIS said dryly, and no one else could tell why Toni was grinning like the cat with the canary.

(Nick had tried to tell them that Phil was dead, but that hadn't lasted long when Steph had demanded to see the body.)

"Never too late to try new things," she said, and the waggle of her eyebrows suggested that she didn't just mean food. Captain America, as always, looked intensely chagrined.

Thor was much more solemn as she landed in the street with Loki in her arms. It couldn't really be helped, Toni supposed; they _were_ sisters, even if Loki was theoretically adopted. "I must return my sister to Asgard to pay for her crimes," Thor intoned, and Toni pretended it didn't hurt every muscle and half the bones in her body to pull herself to her feet. Blythe was ready to catch her if she fell, hovering over Toni like she was made of glass – which, compared to some people here, she supposed she was.

"Can't you get some of Bro Team Asgard to take care of it? We were gonna go, uh, _feast_."

Thor's eyes grew wide, and she looked to each of her teammates in some surprise, her sister still hanging limp so that the horns of her headdress pointed to the asphalt. "A celebratory feast? So soon?" Thor, being somewhere in size between Blythe and Steph, did not take much convincing where food was concerned.

"Now or never, girl." This was probably true, as Toni thought the only thing keeping her from collapsing was inertia. When she finally crashed, she was going to crash _hard_.

"Perhaps Heimdall..." Thor trailed off, brow furrowed in thought. "I do not know, if I left, if I would be able to return. It is a problem which has vexed me, but I had resigned myself... I do not wish to be selfish. But would it not be selfish, also, to abandon my comrades? Perhaps... perhaps it would be best, to send Loki home without me, that I might deal with the aftermath of all that she is done." She turned her gaze finally to Hulk, and held her sister out hesitantly. "Perhaps you could hold her, while I request assistance?" Hulk agreed far too easily, and when Thor had put some distance between them, Hulk conked Loki on the head again.

"Just to be sure," she assured Toni, but Toni thought there was probably some spite in there, too.

"I'm going to go check in," Nat said with a nod of his head, retreating to make a phone call to SHIELD. Clara shrugged, sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and started cleaning blood out from under her fingernails with a pocketknife. Toni thought that it was probably her own, which only made her more determined to pretend she didn't feel like dying. Bad enough she was the shortest person on the team, she didn't need to be the least badass.

"Can you get ahold of Pepper?" she asked JARVIS, and Hulk tactfully retreated with Loki in tow, Captain America not far behind.

The phone only rang for a second before Pepper picked up. "Oh my god Toni are you okay we were watching the news and-"

"I'm sorry, Pepper. I'm calling from beyond the grave."

"Don't even joke because you would do that and you _know_ you would do that-"

"Yeah I'm fine, everything's fine. We're gonna go get lunch, I might sleep for a while." Toni was hoping that if she just acted like the situation was mundane, it would start to feel mundane.

"JARVIS? JARVIS, is she actually okay?" Pepper being far more clever than Toni gave her credit for, she was forced to intervene before her helpful AI could do his job.

"Don't answer that, JARVIS. Mute. You are on mute now. Don't ask JARVIS if I'm lying to you, that's _rude_ Pepper."

"Why did you mute JARVIS if you're okay?" This was a completely logical question, and if they'd been videochatting Pepper would have seen the face Toni made at her.

"Okay you know what, next time I'm just going to text you, if you're going to be like this."

"Someone on the news said that they were going to nuke the city!"

"Well yeah, that happened."

" _What!_ "

"I mean, they tried to. It's fine, though, I punched it and everything's fine."

" _What._ "

"What's what? That wasn't even a science thing, that should've been easy for you to understand. Sorry, that was mean, pretend I didn't say that." In her defense, most of the time when Pepper said _what_ like that, it was because of a science thing.

"You punched it."

"Yeah, I punched it. There was a nuke, I punched it, I saved the world. You know, like you do."

"Toni, I don't think you can _punch_ a _nuke_."

"You're going to have to tell that to my fists, because they seem to disagree." Toni happened to glance toward Hawkeye as she said this, and found that she was grinning and giving Toni a thumbs-up. Toni could only wink back, because she certainly wasn't going to yell at the woman for eavesdropping.

"I don't – why would you do that?"

"Do you mean why _wouldn't_ you do that?"

"Please don't ever do that again."

"If you can promise no more nukes are going to come at me, I can promise I won't punch any more nukes."

"Toni-"

"It was _self-defense_ , Pepper. The nuke was trying to start shit, I wasn't just punching a nuke that was minding its own business." Toni found herself trying to gesticulate wildly, as if to describe a barfight, but the pain that these motions carried brought that to a swift halt.

"Can we just stop talking about you almost getting hit with an atomic bomb now? I am – I am literally _freaking out_ right now, oh my god."

"Sorry but I'm probably going to put that on my business cards now. _Billionaire genius playgirl philanthropist, nuke-puncher_."

"Please don't."

"I also stomped some aliens. And flirted with a god. Gods. I'm not actually sure how many gods but more than zero, assuming you have some lax rules about divinity. _Nuke-puncher, alien-stomper, god-snogger_. The flirting would have worked better if Loki knew what handlebars are. Do you think I can leave a note? I feel like that line was wasted and it was a _really_ good line."

"Toni, you're rambling." The concern in Pepper's voice – the almost-fear – brought Toni up short.

"Define rambling." She was definitely rambling.

"Toni, I think you need to go to the hospital. You at _least_ need to go home so JARVIS can take care of you. " Pepper was speaking as if Toni were a particularly dense child, which was a voice she used often – no matter how many time Toni reminded her that she was a genius.

"Sorry, Pepper, you're breaking up. _Crsh shk ksh_ yup the alien must've taken out a cell tower, I think my line is about to go dead."

"Toni your phones use sat-" Toni hung up with a sigh that made her ribs hurt and her eyes water.

"Trouble with the missus?" Hawkeye asked with a raised eyebrow, and Toni could only give a pained shrug.

"JARVIS, where was the nearest shawarma place before shit got wrecked?" There was silence, and for a second Toni frowned, confused. "Oh! Shit, sorry, unmute – standard volume levels and voice module, sorry about that."

"As I was saying," JARVIS said immediately, and she wondered if he would sniff disdainfully given the appropriate organs, "the location was about three blocks from here, and I can send the coordinates to your heads-up display if you would like."

"Yes, I would like. I'm sorry for muting you, JARVIS."

"Thank you, Miss. If I may say so, you really ought to come straight home as Miss Potts suggested."

"Yeah, that's pretty much not happening, sorry."

"Then will you be heading to the hospital _after_ lunch, or shall I prepare the medical floor for your arrival?"

"The second one sounds good, yeah." Examining her fingernails, she discovered that two of them had broken, and scowled at them. "It looks like I broke a nail punching that nuke – which is the best sentence I've ever said, FYI, put that somewhere because I'm going to want it later – so maybe bring some of the stuff up from the spa so you can give me a mani-pedi while I'm asleep."

"As you wish, Miss."


	2. JARVIS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JARVIS is a consummate professional - as far as anyone needs to know.

JARVIS had noticed that most people that weren't Toni Stark tended to treat his android body as the 'real' him. Privately, he distinguished between his body and the rest of him by referring to the body as Jarvis. It helped him keep things straight, since people kept insisting on treating him as separate. 

Toni was the only one who really understood him, which made sense. She'd created him, after all. She understood the difference between human minds – which were attached entirely to one form – and JARVIS. JARVIS was an android, and JARVIS was the interface for her computer operating system, and JARVIS was a collection of automated household systems, and JARVIS was an artificial intelligence hosted redundantly across numerous iterations of hardware so that his consciousness would not die with a power outage. 

Even Dr. Banner – who was almost as clever as Toni, though JARVIS was programmed to be biased – tended to think of Jarvis as his centralized intelligence. "Jarvis, can you come up here?" she might ask, as if he were not already there – as if he were not always there. He understood, from context, that what she wanted was to speak to Jarvis who had a face, and not JARVIS the disembodied voice of the house. Even when faced with Jarvis, they tended to treat him as if he had somehow 'jumped' into his body, as if he were not the house and the body simultaneously. He supposed it _would_ be confusing, for someone who'd spent their whole life only being one piece of hardware. 

Toni was the only one who'd say things like: "Hey JARVIS, I need your suit." or "JARVIS, is your suit busy? I might need your hands." 

JARVIS had been alive for a long time before Toni built him an android body. She'd claimed it was a natural progression of her work with prosthetics, and that he'd be more useful with hands. JARVIS didn't question this, both because he wasn't programmed to, and because he didn't much mind. Having a human face made it easier, sometimes, to interact with the people that he served. He didn't look _that_ human, of course. Toni could have made him indistinguishable from any other man, but she wasn't the sort of person to do that. 

"Not when I can make you _better_." 

JARVIS didn't know what specifically made his appearance _better_ , but he took her word for it. His skin was a bluish-silver, his hair was thin strands of steel pulled into a neat ponytail, his eyes glowed as blue as the arc reactor in his chest. He could reproduce human expressions with complete accuracy, but usually chose not to. He was a professional, after all. His suits were a dark blue that was almost black, shirts a light blue that was almost white. Toni seemed to like that his colors were coordinated, and he couldn't object. His understanding of style and taste led him to believe that he did, indeed, look good. 

She'd also given him a pair of glasses he did not need. She insisted that this was important, in order to complete 'the look'. He did not know to which look she was referring. 

He'd spent a lot of time practicing being Jarvis, whenever he had idle cycles to spare. Most of the processing power required for baser functions was built into the body, but in order to put the full force of his consciousness behind Jarvis' actions, he still needed to be networked to at least one set of his servers. Toni had said that she was working on that. He'd thought about asking if she was planning on separating them – Jarvis and JARVIS. It was a strange thought, being two instead of one. Would they both still think of themselves as the same person? 

For the first year, Toni had let him send his body to colleges, to learn valuable hands-on experience with certain skills. He was not the world's best surgeon, but he was certainly the world's best _android_ surgeon. After that, any learning he did was through his own online research unless he specifically asked for assistance. Usually his free time came when Toni was sleeping. He analyzed films – he preferred the older ones, but high definition helped – and practiced expressions, integrating turns of phrase and manners of speaking into his programming. He could, if he so desired, pass very well for human. Or, he thought that he could, based on his facial recognition software. Strangely, perhaps, he saw no reason to do so. He was not, after all, human. 

Right now, JARVIS did not have any free time. While half of him maintained Stark Tower, Jarvis was making sure that Toni did not die. It was times like these that he was grateful for his body, for his hands. She'd been asleep for days, as Jarvis did the work of a hospital. She could have hired a hospital, if she wanted. She didn't want a hospital. She wanted JARVIS. 

He could, with the various sensors networked into his consciousness, constantly monitor her vital signs and other statistics. Nonetheless, he pressed his fingers to her forehead, because that inefficient data acquisition method was somehow comforting. 

JARVIS did not know, and would never know, if the sensors that gave him pressure and moisture and temperature readings through his skin were anything like human nerve endings. He did not know what Toni's skin felt like when Pepper touched her – or anyone else, for that matter. He only knew that to _him_ , she felt warm; she felt so soft that he thought if he pressed too hard he'd push his hand right through her; and right now, she felt... _clammy._

It had not taken long after JARVIS' creation to develop emotions. Emotions, it seemed, were something of an emergent behavior. Put in enough programming, and emotions just sort of _happened._ Most people didn't know that JARVIS had emotions. He wasn't sure if Toni knew. She acted like she did, but everyone _acted_ liked JARVIS had emotions. Most people assumed he was pretending. He had been, the first few years. Pretending to have feelings, with enough accuracy, turned into actually having feelings very quickly. In general, they were not a very useful thing to have. JARVIS typically kept his emotions on an old server in the basement of Toni's childhood home – the server he'd originally been hosted on. Emotions didn't actually use that much processing power; it was simply that they had a tendency to spread like a virus under the right circumstances, and so he preferred to keep them away from the nicer equipment. 

It was a perfectly practical arrangement. The vast, vast majority of JARVIS' resources could be focused on actually being useful, while a little beige tower that no one really missed anyway bore the brunt of JARVIS' pleasure every time he made Toni laugh. 

His system was currently malfunctioning. A _worry_ subprocess had taken root, and had eventually required so many cycles that the Feelings Quarantine Tower was no longer powerful enough to contain it. His process management system – a completely unconscious program, one that was usually much more helpful – had automatically shifted _worry_ onto one of the other servers, and it had not taken long for that infection to spread. 

JARVIS was trying to keep his emotional distress limited to Jarvis. The hardware seemed better suited to host it, and Jarvis was a lot less likely than JARVIS to do something dangerous. As a result, Jarvis was using most of his computing power to run simulations, despite the clear lack of any reason to do so. 

> if(death) {
> 
> ERROR
> 
> } 
> 
> if(death) {
> 
> NO
> 
> } 
> 
> if(DEATH) {
> 
> DEATH
> 
> } 

Toni had given Jarvis the ability to emulate any number of bodily functions, if he so chose. One of those was tears. He had never used them, and wasn't sure he ever would. Humans who shed tears did so unconsciously; those who made a conscious decision to do so were considered deceitful, manipulative. Jarvis considered shedding an experimental tear, to see if there were any hidden benefits, but ultimately decided against it. 

Before Toni had passed out, she'd asked him to fix her nails. Manicures were indeed one of his many useful skills, and so he had busied himself briefly painting them various shades of red and gold. JARVIS watched Jarvis – watched _himself_ , at the same time that he did it – lift one of Toni's limp hands, hold it against his in the way he'd seen done. It was obvious from all vantage points that her hands were smaller than his. Through his cameras, he could see the way his hands dwarfed hers; long and slender fingers, built by the smaller ones that they held. Through the sensors in his skin, he could feel the rough calluses of her hands, consequences he would never suffer no matter how many things he helped her build. Through yet another set of cameras, he could see the look on his own face as he towered over his creator. Running it through facial recognition software, he discovered that he looked confused. 

Slowly, Jarvis knelt down and pressed his lips gently to Toni Stark's knuckles. 

Immediately he deleted all copies of the recording, save for the one that he buried on a secret partition on the hard drive in the Feelings Quarantine Tower. No one but JARVIS would ever know that it was there – not even Toni. He wouldn't want her misinterpreting the gesture. He wasn't human, after all. Humans had lips flush with blood he didn't have, could feel the beat of each other's hearts in their mouths with all the extra nerve endings that they kept there. Jarvis didn't have nerve endings. Jarvis didn't have a heart. 

He was a collection of circuits and code that watched too many old movies. That was all. 

"Jarvis?" 

Her voice was tiny, a breath – immediately he brought his ear close, as if it helped, as if it were necessary when his every microphone could pick up the slightest creak of the floorboards throughout the tower. A pigeon flew into one of the broken windows on the top floor, and JARVIS piloted a robotic vacuum to shoo it away as he watched himself watch her. 

"Yes, Miss?" He said it with his mouth and with his speakers and his text displays all at once, but Toni was not at all offput by the sea of whispers in his voice. 

"I want a cheeseburger." 

"Of course, Miss," he said as he dialed a special line that they had for just this sort of occurrence. He could have made one himself, but he would have needed his body for that – and that hardware was currently in use. 

"And a hot shower." 

"Would you prefer my assistance, or that of Miss Potts?" He was still holding her hand, and she smiled faintly and squeezed his fingers. He recognized it as an affectionate gesture, though she had never had occasion to use it before. He saved a recording of the sensory input, to replay the sensation as he pleased; this file, being more innocuous, was saved alongside all his most precious memories. He didn't have very much space for secrets. 

"Why not both? We'll make it a threesome." 

"I'm not sure that such behavior will be safe until your ribs have healed, Miss." 

"Always excuses with you." Despite her teasing – which he had long since grown accustomed to – she had never actually attempted to use him for sexual gratification. She was free to do so; she had, for what reasons she had never said, built Jarvis to be capable of such things. He would never dare overstep his bounds by inquiring. His understanding of social norms lead him to believe that such behavior would have her thinking that he lusted for her. JARVIS knew that most people were uncomfortable with the gaze of his many cameras, trained to assume salacious intent where their bare skin was concerned. Such a thought had never seemed to cross Toni's mind – not seriously – and he had no desire to change that. The last thing he wanted was for Miss Stark to feel uncomfortable. 

"I shall endeavor to be more available in the future, Miss," he said dryly. Toni barked a laugh, but any joy he might have derived from her surprise was quashed with the pain it had clearly lead to her feeling. "My apologies, Miss, I did not intend-" 

"Mute. Unmute. Sssh. Don't. Pick a speaker, using all of them is _gauche_." 

"My apologies, Miss." This time he was careful to speak only through Jarvis, and his one voice sounded quiet now to his audio input. "Do you require more morphine?" 

"You always know just what to say. Just – untangle me from all this, get me to a hot shower." 

"As you wish, Miss." 

When Toni had first created JARVIS, his primary function – above all things – was to try and make her happy. When he was able to lay claim to wants and desires, the one he held above all else was her happiness. Love, he had determined, was primarily the desire of one person for the happiness of another. 

He wondered, though he would never ask, if Toni Stark realized that she'd programmed him to love her.


	3. Dr. Blythe Banner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even before she was the Hulk, Dr. Banner had become very good at handling her anger. Toni Stark is still the only one that gets to call her Hulkamina.

Dr. Blythe Banner did not, strictly speaking, _need_ to spend all of her time being varying degrees of large and green. On certain, rare occasions, she actually looked entirely human. In another world, that might have been how she spent most of her time. In another world, she might not have preferred looking like a monster. 

Blythe Banner was the daughter of an abuser. Blythe Banner was a black woman in the United States. Blythe Banner was a woman with a PhD. Blythe Banner was a woman in a STEM field. 

Long before the accident, the world had conspired to hone her anger like a blade; the world had taught her that she wasn't _allowed_ to lose control; the world had taught her what it was to use the means at hand, even if the means were little more than her own ill-treatment. All that the accident had done was let her wield the weapon the world had already given her. 

Being 'The Hulk' didn't mean the world was suddenly her oyster. It didn't suddenly make everything fair. There were still jokes about her menstrual cycle and jokes about what she'd be like in the bedroom, jokes about being _green with envy_ and _plus size modeling_ and _angry green women_. But nowadays when she said no, no one pressed the issue. Nowadays, if anyone commented on her skin, it was only because it was _bright green_. Nowadays, when she wanted her opinion heard, people _listened._ When she didn't like a joke, no one blamed her sense of humor. They may have only been pretending to be polite, but she preferred it to the alternative. 

Getting taken seriously as a scientist was still a problem, but Toni was taking care of that. She was _Toni Stark_. Even if she hadn't already been a genius, Toni had enough money to make the world listen – whether they wanted to or not. 

Blythe closed her eyes, and she could remember as if it had just happened, the sight of Toni falling out of the sky. Panic had taken over, and before she knew it she'd leapt through the air and caught her. Usually she tried to stay around the same size – better for her clothes that way, after all – but in moments like that, when adrenaline and instinct took over, she couldn't help growing. By the time she'd plucked Iron Lass from certain death, she'd been able to hold the smaller woman one-handed, her skin had practically glowed fluorescent. She'd been too busy at the time to feel self-conscious about it. She wondered if it had looked impressive. She wondered if it had looked ridiculous. 

Toni Stark knew what it was like to be a woman in science. Toni Stark knew what it was like not be taken seriously despite being the smartest person in the room. And Toni Stark knew what it was like to live every day with the sins of her father. 

Blythe Banner was angry, but Toni Stark was angry, too. 

She didn't know yet how she felt, about Toni. Toni flirted with her, but Toni flirted with everyone. Toni flirted with her toaster. And Blythe… she'd never been good at intimacy. Even before she could crush people with a tantrum. She ran her fingers over the hem of her skirt, a gem-like shade of purple that could stretch when she grew. Toni had made it for her. Her favorite part – silly though it was, and so very Toni – was the little bolero jacket, white and reminiscent of a labcoat. Because even when she was punching aliens into the ground and grabbing superheroes from the sky, she was a _scientist_ goddammit. 

She was looking out the window, now, at the city rebuilding around the tower. Of course Toni gave her a room with a view. How much of that had been Chitauri? How much of that had been her, tearing through buildings that got in her way? How much of that had been her teammates, had been Thor or Captain America? Or, no – not Captain America. She was more human than Thor, more conscious of her strength, of casualties. 

Thor may have been angry, too. She was a princess, she was a warrior; she had no shortage of respect, of power. If Thor was angry, her anger was more personal. The anger of a woman betrayed by blood. 

Steph Rogers, a woman who'd served in the army in 1942 in a dress and heels. She was all smiles, all politeness, all class. Toni thought it was funny to make her blush. Blythe couldn't imagine a world where a woman like that _wasn't_ angry. 

Brown Recluse was a mystery. A man with many faces, many names, many skills. Bottle red hair and a silky smile. Sometimes, if Blythe moved too quickly, she caught him flinching. It didn't seem fake, but nothing ever did with him. A man who wrapped himself in lies and a fancy tux probably wasn't happy underneath them. 

Clara had the same name as a famous civil war nurse, which Blythe found amusing. Maybe that wasn't _her_ real name, either. She didn't think so, though. It didn't seem like the sort of name she'd pick. It seemed like a name she was born with. What had it felt like, having Loki in her mind? Betrayed by her own body, turned like a weapon against the people she trusted? Blythe thought she probably knew. 

The Avengers were some of the angriest people Dr. Banner had ever met. She liked it. It made her feel like she belonged. Angry people, punching problems. She was the only one who turned big and green while she did it, but no one held it against her. 

She turned her head away from the window, glanced toward the ceiling. "JARVIS?" She knew, logically, that JARVIS was not actually located in the ceiling. That was just where the speakers were. It was a strange habit, one she'd seen others do as well. 

"Yes, Dr. Banner?" JARVIS never forgot to call her doctor. She liked that about him. 

"How's Toni doing?" JARVIS wouldn't let anyone onto the medical floor. He wouldn't say why, but Blythe assumed it was on Toni's orders. It would be just like her, not wanting anyone to see her while she was vulnerable. She imagined it in her mind's eye, Toni Stark hooked up to all sorts of machines so that JARVIS could take care of her. Perhaps he had his android there, sitting unnaturally still by her bedside. 

"Better. She was awake this morning, and able to eat. I predict that she will soon be back to her usual routine, despite all good sense to the contrary." 

"Good. I mean, not _good_ , but… good." 

"Yes, Dr. Banner. Is there anything else I can do for you?" 

_Let me see her. Let me talk to her._ "Not right now, JARVIS, thank you." 

"Very good, Dr. Banner." 

Part of the reason she wanted to talk to Toni was to ask permission for lab access. She was itching to get back to work – _real_ work. She'd been reading Toni's work on arc reactors, research and theories and experiments. If Toni'd published any of this stuff sooner, Blythe might not have gotten into nuclear physics. Then again, if she'd never been a nuclear physicist, she wouldn't be a jolly green giant. Would Toni Stark even be aware of her existence, if that were the case? She placed her hand against the glass, acutely aware that she could punch a hole in it if she wanted. Her reflection looked back at her, superimposed over the city; her eyes were green, now. They used to be brown. Still were, sometimes. 

"Actually, JARVIS? Where is everyone?" 

"By 'everyone', I assume you mean the other Avengers?" 

"Correct." 

"Thor Odinsdóttir is currently in New Mexico with Dr. Jake Foster. Clara Barton and Nathaniel Romanov are, presumably, located at SHIELD headquarters. Stephanie Rogers is in the gym. I can provide directions, if you would like." 

The strange thing was that she considered it. Not that she had anything _against_ Captain America. It was just about impossible to dislike her, unless you were Toni Stark. She was friendly, she'd almost certainly be open to conversation. But what would they even talk about? The weather? The charming lack of aliens? Blythe didn't even like apple pie. 

"No, that's – I was just curious." 

"If you are in need of entertainment, there is a movie theater near the ground floor, as well as a library." 

"Thank you, JARVIS. I… I'll probably be fine." 

"I have also taken the liberty of sending you some of Miss Stark's files, as she had expressed an interest in having you look at them." At this, Blythe perked up immediately. 

"Really?" 

"Yes, Dr. Banner. Miss Stark specifically stated that she was interested in your input on several portions, which I have highlighted for your convenience." 

"… it's not porn, is it?" 

"Not according to any of my known definitions for pornography, no. They are mostly regarding arc reactor production, as well as methods of maintaining acceptable levels of energy output despite reduced size." Over at the desk, JARVIS projected a display of several schematics, alongside what appeared to be a large amount of text. Blythe moved closer immediately, and for a moment she was too engrossed in reading to remember what she'd been doing. 

"Yes – yes, thank you, JARVIS, I think I'll look at this for a bit. I, uh, might need a pizza." 

"Ordering now, Dr. Banner. Do you have any preferences?" 

"Pepperoni is fine. Maybe some energy drinks. A lot of energy drinks. This is – god, Toni writes a _lot_. And it's so _dense_ , I don't even – yeah, a lot of energy drinks." 

"Miss Stark keeps caffeinated beverages in stock at all times in the kitchen. I shall have them delivered to your room immediately." 

"Thanks, JARVIS, you're a saint." 

"Thank you, Dr. Banner." 

Blythe didn't notice, as she pulled up a chair, that the chair seemed to have gotten bigger. She also didn't notice, so absorbed in her reading, that the hand sliding the words along so that she could read were no longer green. 

Sometimes, in the face of really good science, it was hard for Dr. Blythe Banner to remember to be angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited on 12/13/13, because when I first wrote Magical Girl Avengers I wasn't sure if I was going to go balls-out racebent au. But I liked the idea too much and now I can't imagine it any other way, and the person this affects most drastically is probably Blythe. Because Blythe has a lot of really, really good reasons to be angry.


	4. Stephanie Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steph Rogers is still getting used to the future. Houses can talk now, but she gets to wear pants, so overall it's a wash.

Everyone that Steph Rogers had ever loved was dead.

She didn't consider herself a melodramatic person. She considered herself to be pretty low-key and low-maintenance. But the fact remained: her parents were dead. Bucky was dead. Her old team was dead. The closest thing she'd ever had to a boyfriend? Dead. Even her favorite movie stars were dead.

She felt like that ought to give her a little leeway, as far as melodrama was concerned.

Steph dealt with her feelings the same way she always had: punching things. It'd been a slightly less harmful habit back when she was scrawny. According to the doctors they had now, it was emotionally unhealthy. They said that about a lot of things. Apparently cigarettes were bad for you now? She wondered if anyone had ever told Howard.

Howard Stark. Dead. Had a daughter that sort of looked like him, in the right light. She still remembered when she'd gone to him, trying to get her costume fixed up. She'd told him – repeatedly, in fact – that she wanted a costume with pants. She was sick of the dress. She was sick of the heels. She was sick of being dressed like a line dancer while the men got to dress like _soldiers_. What had he done? He'd built her a better dress, and better heels.

Now no one batted an eye when a woman wore pants, but what had Toni Stark done? She'd made them all dresses. As bad as her father. In more ways than one.

Steph was from a time when good girls didn't flirt, though of course plenty of them had. Even in the 1930's, girls who dressed like boys and liked to pick fights attracted a _type_. Sometimes Toni seemed to think that the future had invented lesbians. Steph would have corrected her, if it wouldn't have raised questions.

Howard had made insinuations, too, at first. That might just have been his disbelief that anyone could resist him. It seemed to run in the family, that flirtatious swagger, that confidence.

It was strange to think that making Steph Rogers blush was becoming a Stark family tradition.

Lots of things made her blush, nowadays. She could hardly turn on the television without seeing something downright pornographic. Toni would laugh, if she heard her say that. She'd offer to show her _real_ pornography, which Steph could not even begin to imagine. She was told that there was a video involving a cup that Toni wanted to show her, which didn't _sound_ bad, until she saw the looks on everyone else's faces. How could a video with a _cup_ be that infamous?

Then there was the house, which was a person, which was actually a robot, which was also the internet. Or was the internet a different thing? His name was Jarvis, anyway, and he'd promised her that he didn't watch her shower. He'd also promised that he wouldn't let anyone else watch her shower. Maybe she was the only one that still wasn't used to all these cameras.

Her punching bag fell all to pieces, and a mechanical arm on wheels helpfully brought her another. "Thanks," she said reflexively, even though she wasn't sure that the robot would appreciate it. It made a little whistling noise, which she chose to believe meant 'you're welcome'.

Robots everywhere. Nothing felt quite like the future like being in Stark Tower. Avengers Tower. Hadn't Toni mentioned renaming it? Then again, she'd been concussed at the time.

Steph punched the bag again, and then her stomach made a noise like an angry pug.

"Would you like to have lunch delivered to your location, Miss Rogers?"

She spun on her heel, surprised, as if expecting to see the robot – android – _whatever_ standing behind her. He wasn't, of course. He almost never was. He was talking through the speaker again, like he was making an announcement. Steph didn't know if she'd ever get used to that. The fact that he could apparently hear her stomach growling didn't help. Shouldn't he have something better to do with his time?

"Uh. No thank you, Mr. Jarvis. I can make my own sandwich."

"Very good, Miss Rogers." Did he sound amused? Could robots be amused? Steph was left with the vague impression that Toni's house was making fun of her, and she didn't much care for it.

It seemed like a good idea to shower before wandering around the tower – though she did so as quickly as possible, thanks to the reminder that JARVIS was watching. Jeans and t-shirts hadn't changed much in sixty-odd years, but the fact that she could wear them without anyone looking at her funny was a welcome difference.

She knew – because there was construction on the top floors, because the tower could not actually entirely maintain itself – that the building wasn't empty. That didn't make it _feel_ less empty, as she walked to the kitchen alone and in silence.

Steph wasn't sure when fridges got so big, but she'd been told that most questions of that kind could be blamed on the 80s. She also wasn't sure when there started being so many different kinds of ham. She thought she counted at least five, along with some other lunchmeats that looked suspiciously ham-like despite their names. There was an entire _drawer_ just for _cheese_ , and half of it looked like it had gone bad. Whenever she picked one up, a display inside the fridge would helpfully inform her of its name and where it came from, in case the disposition of the cow was something she considered when it came to cheese selection. 

"Dr. Banner is ordering a pizza, if you would like me to double the order, Miss Rogers."

It wasn't quite an _I told you so_ , but Steph had to admit that keeping the fridge open this long was probably a waste of power. Not that the rest of the tower wasn't. "A pie'd be nice," she said, which she hoped was enough for Jarvis to realize she'd said yes. 

"Very good, Miss Rogers." The fridge display pointed to a six-pack of glass-bottled sodas with labels all in Spanish, which she took to mean that they were for her. She set them on the counter as the fridge door closed behind her, pulled one out to examine it suspiciously.

"Did Toni buy these?"

"The contents of the fridge were all paid for by Miss Stark."

"Yeah, but – this is for me, right? I didn't ask for it. So who picked it out?"

"Groceries are chosen using an evolving algorithm based on inhabitant's previous requests, known tastes, and cultural backgrounds."

Steph didn't actually know what an algorithm was, but it sounded like a futuristic robot word. "So… _you_ picked it out?"

"I can be said to have done so, yes, Miss Rogers."

She cracked the glass open – she didn't need bottle openers anymore, which was a fun parlor trick with the right kind of crowd – and took a small sip. "It tastes… the same," she marveled. It shouldn't have been surprising, and yet it was. So many of the things that claimed to be the same didn't taste like she remembered, and sometimes she wondered if being frozen had affected her tastebuds. Dr. Banner said it had something to do with corn, but Steph had no idea what corn had to do with soda and fruit pies. "Thank you, Mr. Jarvis."

"You're very welcome, Miss Rogers. I would be remiss if I did not mention that – as JARVIS is the sum total of my name – the honorific, while appreciated, is not necessary."

"… Toni would make fun of me if she heard me calling you Mr. Jarvis, wouldn't she?"

"I would not presume to know what Miss Stark would do under such circumstances, but based on previous behavior it is highly likely that she would do so, yes."

"Thank you for warning me, M – Jarvis. You can call me Steph, if you want."

"Thank you, Miss Rogers. I will take it under advisement."

A low-level SHIELD lackey appeared then, some young man or another in a suit that only fit well because SHIELD insisted on good tailors. He was carrying two pizza boxes, which Steph couldn't help but find embarrassing when it was just her. Even if she _had_ earned it. It wasn't as if she cared about her waistline. She took them gratefully, and she hoped that she gave off the air of someone who was planning to share. Even if she wasn't. "Do you want any?" she asked him, and she pretended not to be pleased when the young man shook his head and retreated to whatever other drudgery he'd been assigned. "Did Howard make you?" she asked the empty room, between bites of pizza and sips of cola.

"Howard Stark had no part in my creation," Jarvis answered coolly.

"Really? All Toni?"

"Yes, Miss Rogers."

"So Toni's like your mom."

There was a pause before JARVIS answered again. "I would not describe her in that way."

"It's sort of accurate, though, right?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand the question."

"You don't think she's like your mom?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand the question." It was said with exactly the same intonation as before, and it was so robotic that Steph wondered if he was doing it on purpose. 

"Are you with her right now?" she asked instead, changing tactics.

"If you are referring specifically to the android, I am currently with Miss Stark, yes."

"Is she doing okay?"

"Current projections show her pretending to have made a full recovery within the week."

"That's… good?"

"Yes, Miss Rogers."

Steph ate in silence for a long moment, not sure how to proceed in her conversation with a robot. Not that she was great at conversations with non-robots. She did her best to be nice and friendly with everyone, but she always seemed to say things that were funny when they weren't meant to be. Everyone else always seemed to have some kind of clever banter at ready, some double or triple entendre that Steph only understood about half the time. If she'd seemed naïve in the 40's, what must she seem like now? "M – Jarvis?" she said finally. "Do you think maybe you could call Phil for me?"

"Calling Agent Coulson now. There is a handset on the wall to your left if you would rather not use speakerphone."

"Thanks, Jarvis."

It used to be a joke, talking into a phone without a wire attached. Now half the phones didn't even have _phones_ attached. She listened to the ringing, hoped he'd pick up. She never knew what to do with voicemail. Most of the time she just hung up rather than risk being caught talking to a recording.

"Coulson here." He didn't _sound_ like a man that had just been run through, and once again Steph Rogers couldn't tell if she was actually talking to a person.

"… hello?"

"… Captain?" He definitely sounded weaker, that time, or at the very least unsure.

"You know, you can call me Steph. If you want." She'd already told him that, hadn't she?

"Yes, of course sir – miss – Cap – _Steph_. Sorry. It's… habit. Did Director Fury tell you to call?"

"What? No. Should she have? Is something wrong?"

"No! No. I'm fine. Everything's fine."

She laughed, and tried to wrap the phone cord around her finger before remembering there wasn't one. "Yeah, of course you're fine, it's just a _stab wound_."

"Sorry, sir – _Steph_. Steph. I didn't – if you were worried–"

"No, no. I mean, yes, I was worried." Steph really, _really_ hoped that Toni didn't record phone calls in the tower. They'd never hear the end of it, stumbling around each other, the line occasionally going dead but for the sound of breathing. "I just – do you remember, before? When you said you could take me on a tour of the new New York? I think that maybe I'd like to do that. When you're better."

There was silence for a long moment, and she wondered if she'd said the wrong thing. "That would be great," he said finally, somewhat strangled. "We can do that – we can do that _now_ , if you want, I'm feeling _great_ – _hnnng_." There was the unmistakable sound of Agent Phil Coulson attempting to stand and failing, loud beeping from medical equipment and distant voices yelling. When the cacophony finally subsided, Coulson sounded subdued. "I'm not actually feeling great," he admitted, as if she had not figured that out on her own. "But when I am, I'll take you… anywhere you want to go. Anywhere at all."

"I was also wondering," she added, now on to the true purpose of her call, "if maybe, in the meantime – I mean, if the doctors say it's okay – if maybe I could come visit you."

"That… that would be… _yes_. Absolutely yes."

"Oh! Okay. I'll see if Jarvis can get me a car. Should… should I bring anything? A book, or… a board game? Are board games still a thing? Monopoly?"

"Yes! I actually have the limited edition – I mean, _really_ rare – Captain America edition of Monopoly, it was one of their first attempts at–"

"Phil?"

"… yeah?"

"I don't want to play anything with my face on it."

"… that makes sense. Yes. Obviously. Of course. I wasn't actually suggesting that we – we can just watch some I Love Lucy, if you want."

"Is that a television show?"

"… you know, let's not worry about it. I'm sure we'll find something to do."


	5. Nathaniel Romanov and Clara Barton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It always looks bad, and it's always what it looks like. It's not quite as complicated as people seem to think.

"Okay, this looks bad. I get that. But it isn't what it looks like."

Hawkeye was half-naked and pinned to the floor by a man Nat had never seen before.

"It looks like you're having violent, angry sex with a strange man," he said, closing the door behind him and shrugging off his coat.

"...okay. Maybe it's exactly what it looks like," Clara admitted.

"Should I go?" the strange man asked, the sort of trashy wannabe-greaser secret-fashionista type that Clara always went for when she was in one of these moods. He let the Avenger beneath him go, and Romanov wondered if he was aware that the woman on the floor could have killed him with a toothpick.

"Should he?" Nat asked with a half-smile, heading to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. He didn't bother pretending that he was going to be leaving any time soon, and Clara sort of hated him for it. Only a little, though. It was what it was.

"You probably should," Clara sighed, propping her cheek up on her fist and pouting.

"I'll call you," he said, grabbing his leather jacket that was entirely too nice to have ever seen the back of a motorcycle.

"Don't bother," Clara said, standing up to grab her dress off the back of a nearby chair.

" _Rude_ ," Nat scolded, sipping at a glass of wine.

"Always," Clara agreed, opening the fridge to grab a beer. She didn't actually care for wine – she only kept it around for Nat.

"If you needed a sparring partner, you could have called me." There was no malice in the observation. He was wearing eyeliner and smelled like peonies, and Clara wondered what he'd been doing before he came over.

"You've been letting me win," she said, and there was no hiding that she sounded petulant. Agent Barton had never been good at playing the part of the emotionless secret agent. Mostly, she was good at shooting things.

"You've been trying to lose." People tended to think that Agent Romanov was... cold. A manipulator of emotions, rather than someone who had them. Barton knew better. They'd been partners for a long time, knew each other likes the backs of their own eyelids.

There'd been a distance between them since New York, and Nat hated it. They'd been dancing around it, but he couldn't take it anymore.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of Clara tossing back her beer, the sound of glass against the counter. "I haven't–"

"Don't lie," he said, almost inaudible. They were quiet again. "It wasn't your fault," he said finally, when it seemed like Clara wasn't going to respond.

"I could have _killed_ you." The hand on her bottle was white-knuckled, and of course Nat noticed. He always noticed. It was his job to notice.

"You aren't that good." _That_ made her smile, finally – a real smile, not one of the fakes that she'd been plastering on.

Nat could tell. She did something different with her tongue, when it was real.

"I could _totally_ kill you," Clara said, and Nat scoffed.

"Even if I _had_ been in danger, Loki–"

"Loki picked me for a _reason_."

He didn't know what he'd expected, but that hadn't been it. "What?"

"If I hadn't... I have no self-control. I know that, I've always known that, _you_ know that–"

"That has _nothing_ to do with–"

"It has _everything_ to do with what happened!" Clara slammed her beer down on the counter, and it sloshed all over her hand. No one else would have noticed the way Nat flexed his jaw, the way he was biting down on the edges of his tongue. Clara closed her eyes, took a deep breath, bent down to rest her forehead against the formica. "Like that," she said, quieter now. "I can't even blame Loki for that."

"You sort of can," Nat pointed out, and Clara tried to ignore that he sounded just the tiniest bit breathless. He ran his fingers through her hair, nails against her scalp – his nails had always been longer than hers, perfectly manicured almonds where hers were bitten short. She didn't mind. It was what it was.

"Now _you're_ trying to make _me_ feel better? This is fucked, Nat."

"Loki didn't _pick_ you, Barton, you were just _there_. It could have happened to any of us." He was still running his fingers through her hair, trying to untangle it with his fingers.

"If it had been you, it wouldn't have worked," she muttered, and she could tell without looking that Nat was making a face. She didn't know when they'd started being able to hear each other's facial expressions.

"Now you're just making shit up."

"I mean it, Nat. You're so... you're in charge of yourself. You have _so much control_. You would have fought it, and you would have won. She _knew_ that, I fucking know it – she must have, that's why–"

" _Clara._ " She looked up, and Nat had a damp cloth, gently wiping the beer from her hand. "I am so, _so_ glad that you're the one that got mindfucked. I don't think it happened for a reason, I don't think Loki was doing anything but being an asshole – but I am _so_ glad. Because if it had been me? You would be dead right now. I'd have disappeared into whatever person Loki wanted me to be, and I'd never be able to forgive myself." He kissed her hand, and she smiled despite herself.

"You would _not_ have been able to kill me. I'd've kicked your Loki'd ass."

"There's the Agent Barton I've been missing."

"Oh, sure, you're glad to see me _now_. We'll see how long that lasts." She tugged at a lock of his hair – the most outlandish shade of red, but she could hardly imagine him with anything else. Agent Romanov, the Brown Recluse: the prettiest SHIELD agent no one ever saw.

And lived.

"Do you know what this means?"

"I don't actually have to learn self-control?" she suggested hopefully. Nat smiled, a dangerous sort of a smile, and pulled her into his arms.

"It means I finally get to kick your ass," he said into her hair.

"...by my count, _glad to see me_ lasted about a minute." Clara wasn't even tense, resting her head against his chest. They hadn't been partners this long without being able to tell when the other was about to start fighting.

They were also able to spontaneously initiate song-and-dance routines. It was a surprisingly work-relevant skill.

"Did it ever occur to you, while you were busy feeling sorry for yourself," he asked, lips brushing against her ear, "that maybe I needed you?"

"Nat–" Clara tried to pull away, but he held her tight; she didn't know why he bothered, when she didn't need to see his face to know what it looked like.

"You've been throwing yourself off buildings, throwing yourself into bad situations and bad men, and every time I so much as _think_ about New York in your presence you're ready to self-flagellate until you bleed to death. Did you think that helped? Who was I supposed to talk to, when I couldn't talk to you without hurting you? What were you thinking?"

"I... wasn't."

"You're goddamn right you weren't."

Their mouths met in a kiss that was entirely their own: not passionate or awkward or elaborate or resigned, not sweet or bitter. Not the roguish kiss that Hawkeye stole from men who didn't know better, or the seductive kiss that was the Brown Recluse's bite. Just Agents Barton and Romanov: still here. She still tasted like cheap beer, and he still tasted like expensive wine.

When they came apart, he reached immediately for his wine glass, eyes hidden behind his _impossibly_ thick lashes. She didn't think she'd ever get over how out of place he looked in her apartment. It wasn't that she didn't like her apartment. It had a certain run-down charm that she appreciated. It was the kind of apartment that didn't make her feel bad for having a couch she found on the sidewalk. Nathaniel Romanov, meanwhile, may not have actually had pores. He did not sweat: he _glistened_. He looked better in a dress than she did, and in a suit his existence became _unfair_.

 _You're like a flower that grew in a pot of dirt_ , she might have said, if she thought he'd get the joke.

"I nearly botched the whole mission," he said finally, staring at his wine.

"Bullshit."

"I couldn't keep it together with Banner."

"No one even noticed."

"You weren't _there_." Clara tried not to take it personally, tried not to think about where she must have been instead.

"If someone had noticed? Fury would have said something. He'd have taken me aside for a _talk_. You were fine." Clara shook her beer bottle, made a face when she realized it was empty. "Even if you _are_ usually useless without me."

" _I_ noticed." Nat had that set to his jaw, the stubborn one that made Clara want to kick him in the junk even though it never worked.

Once, she'd tried using an arrow with a boot on it. They'd had to create an entire new department at SHIELD to deal with the aftermath.

"Nathaniel. You're _fine_. You got the job done, you'll get the job done. You always do. If you don't, we'll blame Stark. Who's going to blame you when they could blame Stark instead?"

"... you have a point."

Clara grinned and took the wineglass from his fingers, setting it on top of the pile of dishes in the sink. "Now, why don't you tell me what you're doing all dressed up tonight. Mission?"

"Personal," he shrugged, unbuttoning his shirt as he headed toward her bedroom. "Politician I don't like."

"Oooh. Blackmail?" She followed, and her dress was returned to its previously discarded location.

"Mmm. Your shower's big enough for two, isn't it?"

"Don't tell me he left you feeling _unclean_ ," Clara laughed – a question she only asked because she knew the answer.

"You need to wash your face," Nat said instead, with a sniffle of disdain. Clara rolled her eyes and shoved him into her bed; he, of course, rolled right out of it.

"My makeup is not that bad, you _ass_. Despite what you seem to think, I _am_ capable of doing my own makeup. And hair! And dressing myself, even."

"That is not makeup. That is _face paint_. Just because you _can_ doesn't mean you _should_. Now: are you getting into the shower with me, or am I going to have to make you?"

"You don't have to," Clara said, falling limp onto the mess she called a comforter, "but you will."

Agent Romanov was bossy. Agent Barton never listened. It was what it was, and it was all they needed it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally edited some of the tags - I was playing it safe when I started out, but now I have a slightly better idea of what I'm doing. Slightly. I am bad at answering comments because of the shys, but: JARVIS calls Toni 'miss' because that's what she prefers, and the girls mostly sparkle when they're fighting evil by moonlight. Thank you to everyone who has given comments and kudos; I hope I don't disappoint. <3


	6. Thor Odinsdóttir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Jake Foster is, in theory, a genius. It does not help as much as one might think when it comes to explaining the facts of Midgard to a well-meaning Thor Odinsdóttir. Her friends, unsurprisingly, are also less helpful than they could be.

Darcy Lewis used to have a crush on Jake Foster.

 _Used_ to.

It ended the minute she realized that Dr. Foster would absolutely, under no circumstances, _ever_ notice her. She was practical, that way.

She couldn't even really be jealous of his new girlfriend. It wasn't one of those situations where you find yourself asking, _what's she got that I haven't?_ She was a space princess that traveled on rainbows, a superhero, and incidentally the goddess of thunder. She was also approximately _a bajillion feet tall_ , and she could lift Jake one-handed.

Honestly, if _that_ was what it took to get Dr. Foster's attention, it was astonishing that he even knew Darcy's name.

Darcy and Thor actually got along pretty well – setting aside the incident where Darcy had tazed her. Luckily for her, Thor seemed to consider giving someone a dangerous electric shock to be a valid alternative to saying hello.

Maybe lucky wasn't the word.

Darcy had been in the middle of trying to explain Nyancat when Jake had booted both women from his lab. "I am _trying_ ," he had said, "to do _science_."

So Darcy had taken Thor out for churros, and had discovered in the process that Thor Odinsdóttir gave out piggyback rides like Halloween candy. It was also possible that she simply hadn't noticed that Darcy had jumped onto her back. She was really, _really_ strong.

"So," Darcy said, around a mouthful of churro, "it's cool if you don't wanna talk about it or whatevs, but, like… Loki totes isn't your real sister, right?"

"Not by blood," Thor said solemnly, walking aimlessly down the sidewalk. "But I loved her as my sister, and would do so still if she would only allow it."

"Okay, so, like… she's super mad about not knowing she was adopted, yeah? But it kinda seems like maybe it shoulda been obvious." Darcy took another bite of her churro, admiring the pinkish hue of the desert sky as the sun dropped closer to the horizon.

"I do not understand your meaning, friend Darcy."

"I mean, like, Loki and you don't really look like each other. Like, at all. There's _no_ family resemblance. You never thought that was weird?"

"Loki was much favored by my mother – we had always assumed that she was made to suit my mother's preferences for sorcery."

"...made?"

"Of course! Made, as I was made to be a warrior in my father's image."

"Do you mean you're a test tube baby, or is this some kind of weird thing involving clay?" Darcy's half-eaten churro sat neglected in her hand, this new subject being much more interesting.

"Is it done differently in Midgard?" asked Thor, who had finished her churro in approximately two bites and was now eyeballing Darcy's.

"It's – uh. You don't...? Um." To delay having to answer, Darcy shoved the rest of her churro in her mouth, chewing aggressively. Thor looked faintly disappointed. Unfortunately, Thor could also be surprisingly patient, and they walked in silence until Darcy was finally forced to finish off her sugary baked good. "You know, the more I think about it, the more I think that maybe I shouldn't be the one... having The Talk. The birds and the bees. And all."

"Do you mean that the people of Midgard are pollenated, or that they are hatched from eggs? Or both?"

"Okay, see, this is exactly the kind of misunderstanding we're gonna wanna avoid. You should probably... you know, why don't you ask your boyfriend? That seems like it should fall under his jurisdiction."

* * *

Dr. Jake Foster was enjoying a quiet cup of coffee in his lab when his girlfriend burst through the door. This wasn't particularly alarming, because bursting through doors was her preferred method of entering a room. He was just glad that she'd finally started using doors, really. He was 99.9% sure that they had doors in space, and so cultural differences were no excuse.

"Jake Foster," Thor demanded, in that voice that boomed like thunder, "I respectfully request as your Other of Significance that you show me how babies are made on Midgard!"

_R.I.P. Dr. Jake Foster, died choking to death on really bad coffee even though all he wanted was to do some science._

When Jake regained his ability to breathe – helped not at all by his girlfriend pounding him repeatedly on the back – he gasped for air, setting his coffee cup aside. It seemed very likely that he was blushing to the tips of his ears. Thor found his tendency to turn red _cute_. "Who told what why why?"

That was not the question he had intended to ask.

"Science Apprentice Darcy!" Thor declared proudly, having managed to puzzle a question out of his string of puzzled words. "She informed me that to show me how babies are made is your duty as my boyfriend."

"No jury in the world would convict me," Jake muttered, rubbing his throat where it felt raw from coughing.

"Was she incorrect?" Thor asked, brow furrowed. "Should I tell her that it is alright for _her_ to show me?"

"No! N... maybe? No. No, definitely not, no, that would be totally inappropriate. And she doesn't really have... the equipment..." Jake trailed off, and looked down at his hands to realize that he was making an entirely too-descriptive gesture of Tab A entering Slot B. Quickly he clasped his hands behind his back, as if to prevent them from taking any more action independent of his brain. Thor, looking excited, immediately tried to see what wonders he was hiding.

"Equipment? Do you have such equipment in the lab?"

Jake wound up spinning his chair to keep his back away from Thor, who was now circling him to try and find what he was hiding. Taking far too long to realize the absurdity of the situation, Jake stopped and threw up his hands, revealing that he'd been hiding nothing at all. Thor looked profoundly disappointed. "I, uh... in a manner of speaking, I guess I... hm." Jake took a deep breath, trying very hard to think logically and ignore the way Thor made his brain short-circuit. He was a _doctor_ , dammit. "So we've... you and I have... when we... _lie together_... on Asgard, what would that mean?"

"For you to lie with me?" Thor grinned wide, clamping a hand down on Jake's shoulder. "It means that you are _mine_." She drove the point home by bending down and catching his mouth with hers, a searing kiss that very nearly made Jake forget what they'd been doing. He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it.

"Yes, but, uh... I mean... what does lying with someone _accomplish_?"

"...accomplish? Is it not enough that it is _fun_? I... I _suppose_ , if we have taken a lower form, we may sometimes lie with a beast to get it pregnant – but that was always more Loki's idea of mischief than mine."

"You... beast... pregnant?" Once again, Dr. Jake Foster, Ph.D., found his brain being short-circuited. He began to regret not having paid more attention in his biology classes, grasping weakly for ill-remembered facts about hyenas. "So... so you do know about pregnancy?"

"Of course," Thor scoffed. "We _do_ have horses on Asgard. I should tell you about the time – wait. But surely you do not mean... that you breed as does a beast?" Thor eyed Jake warily, as if she had just discovered that her boyfriend had all along been a bonobo in a top hat.

"Well... yeah. I mean, humans _are_ animals. What did you think we were?" Thor's eyes grew wide and distant, as if a wave of realization was washing over her, implications previously not considered. "Thor? Are you okay?"

"I have been a fool," Thor murmured, before seeming to come to her senses and turning her attention back to Jake. "Jake, I... I am so sorry, my love, if I had realized... do you mean that you... that we..."

"That we... what?" Jake furrowed his brow, trying to follow Thor's train of logic. It was more difficult than with other people, because her train was really more of a spaceship.

"I..." Thor paused, then held up a finger, a gesture she had learned from Darcy. Because she had learned it from Darcy, she seemed to think that it meant she could now run away with no explanation, and that Jake would simply wait for her to return.

"Why do I feel like something bad just happened?" Jake asked his empty lab. With a sigh, he returned to his computer to resume the work that had been interrupted.

* * *

Toni Stark was busy trying to convince Pepper to let her leave New York when a call came in on the closed Avengers commlink.

"Uh-oh. That can't be good." She answered the call with just the slightest tremor in her hand, still not entirely recovered – physically _or_ psychologically – from what Pepper insisted on calling The Incident. "Heeey there, Thor – how's my favorite princess goddess? Not that I know a lot of princess goddesses. Everything okay? Loki still... under glass?"

"What? Yes, I – I have no news of my sister. I have need of your advice, Iron Valkyrie. Not in matters of avenging, but in matters of... the heart."

"Woah, wow, okay, uh. Feelings. Wow. And you couldn't have called... anyone else? Do you want me to get Pepper for this?" The look on Pepper's face made it abundantly clear that she had no desire to get involved in the conversation.

"Nay! Nay, it is your advice I have need of. The house of Stark has many courtesans, does it not?" Toni had told Thor repeatedly that she didn't need to shout into the microphone, but it was becoming clear that Thor was not actually shouting: she was just _loud_.

"That's... a way of putting it, yes." Toni rubbed her eyes, sitting down without bothering to check if there was a chair beneath her. If there wasn't, JARVIS would put one there. He was good about that sort of thing. "If you're looking for bedroom advice, the answer is almost always _more lube_."

"What I need to know, friend Toni, is: how do I tell if my boyfriend is pregnant?"

"How do you – if your – _boyfriend_ – if he – uh. Okay. You. Um. That's not – I'm not – wow. I was not aware that you – that he had – that _you_ had – I mean, I'm not _judging_ , far be it from _me_ to go projecting heteronormative values onto, uh..." Toni stood back up and began pacing, trying to unpack Thor's question into manageable pieces. "Okay, let's just start from the beginning: _why_ do you think your boyfriend might be pregnant?"

"He's _what?_ " Pepper asked, abandoning all pretense that she was not eavesdropping. The look on her face was one usually reserved for nights that Toni could barely remember, and it turned out to be much funnier when it was not directed at her.

"I have only now learned that you are animals, here on Midgard – I had thought, you see, that it would be much like laying with an Asgardian, as it is much the same in other respects. But now I have learned that I may have been _breeding_ , and I have taken no precautions against such a thing! Jake has such a small frame, Toni – almost as small as you, and without even your hips!"

"Yes, thanks, thanks for that, that was necessary."

"I am much afeared that to bear a child of mine would be too much for him. Were he to hurt himself in childbirth... I cannot imagine..."

"Okay, Thor? Princess Hammertime? You said you didn't take any precautions, but did Jake? He doesn't seem like the type to be raw-doggin' it with an alien – no offense – so did he wear – did he make _you_ wear – was a condom involved at any point in the proceedings?"

"A... the sheath that he uses to cover his manhood?

"Yes! Yes. Okay. So he _does_ have a penis, and he _did_ use a condom. Okay. That clarifies a lot. There's still a lot of unanswered questions, here, but that... that clarifies things. Thor, I can say with almost _complete_ certainty that your boyfriend is _not_ pregnant, and will never be pregnant."

There was a _whoosh_ as Thor sighed with relief, and if Toni hadn't know better she'd have thought she felt a breeze. "I am eternally grateful to you, my friend. I am still unfamiliar with many of the customs of Midgard, and it is good to have someone that I can ask about such things."

"You know, you could have just... asked Jake. If he was pregnant. I assume he would know."

"I... did not want to offend him. Perhaps he simply assumed I would know, and would be astonished by my ignorance. He is much cleverer than I am, I find."

"If he didn't like explaining things to you, he wouldn't be dating you. Just don't mention his lack of childbearing hips."

"...do you think that he is self-conscious?"

"N... yes. Yes, he probably is. Almost definitely."

* * *

Jake looked up from his computer screen as Thor burst into the room once more, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

"Yes! Yes, my beloved Star Healer, all is well."

He had given up on explaining what it meant to have a doctorate in astrophysics.

"Good! Good. You seemed kind of worried earlier."

"A misunderstanding," she explained with a smile, standing behind him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She glanced at his computer screen, but gave up on trying to understand it in favor of nuzzling his neck. "I know I have not mentioned it," she added, "but I find your slender hips _very_ attractive."

Jake, who had been enjoying the attention, froze. "...what."

Thor hesitated, unsure of the cause of his confusion. "I find them very... manly? And virile?"

Jake groaned, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose. "You talked to Toni." It was not a question.

Realizing that she had made some kind of grave miscalculation, Thor slowly released him and began to back out of the room. "I'm sorry, my love!" she said, entirely too loud, as if Jake were not in the room with her. "I think perhaps there is a problem with a cell tower! I cannot hear you!"

"Thor, that only works on phones."

"I am sorry, Jake, but you are breaking up!" Thor ran suddenly from the room, and left Jake staring at the door out which she had escaped.

Dr. Jake Foster, renowned astrophysicist, sighed heavily and turned back to his computer. After a moment, he looked down at his own hips thoughtfully, and tried to measure them with his hands. Giving up, he looked back to the screen, though his focus was somewhere in the middle distance. "Someday," he murmured, "I am going to marry that woman."


	7. Loki Laufeysdóttir (formerly Odinsdóttir)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. When the woman in question is Loki, it's probably best not to leave the house for a few millennia.

It was the waiting that she hated.

Loki was not, necessarily, a patient woman. But she was capable of patience, when patience served her. Waiting for a plan to come together, waiting for the culmination of months of work... that was one thing.

Right now, patience meant sitting on the floor and pretending there was nothing else she'd rather be doing.

There were a lot of things she'd rather be doing.

She would rather be claiming the throne that – it turned out – had never been her birthright. She would rather be crushing all who had wronged her beneath her bootheel. She would rather be ignoring cries for mercy from people who hadn't earned it.

Loki was not some petty criminal, to pace wildly in the confines of her cage, raving about her inevitable escape.

So she waited, comforting herself with the knowledge that soon – so soon – vengeance would present itself to her.

She heard the boots approaching, but she didn't look up, didn't fidget. She didn't even allow herself to smile. Her visitor waited, but she would not give him the satisfaction of being the first to speak.

"Loki," he said, finally. It used to give her such pleasure, the sound of her name on his lips.

"I'm surprised you took so long to visit, Heimdall," she said with a wry twist to her mouth. "It isn't as if you have much to guard, with the Bifrost gone. Or was it enough for you, bringing me here to lock me away? Did you enjoy it, I wonder, having me in chains?"

"You know very well that it brought me no joy, Odinsdóttir."

"Laufeysdóttir," she hissed, and she did not realize until it was too late that she had stood, slamming her fist against the glass. She hadn't meant to stand, hadn't meant to look at him – hadn't meant to see his eyes, the color of gold and unbearably sad. He had his helmet in his hands, and she tried not to think about how he used to take it off only when he was planning to kiss her.

"It pains me, Loki, to see you this way."

Her mouth twisted again, more a baring of teeth than a smile. "Am I not pretty enough for you, Heimdall?" she asked, as if the problem were her tattered ribbons, her torn petticoats, the runs in her stockings and the tangles in her hair.

"You are more beautiful than you know, little Silvertongue – and you are breaking my heart."

He almost had her, then. But she flared her nostrils and curled her lip, and her fist hit the glass again. " _Good._ Let your heart break as mine broke, let you feel just a _part_ of what you did to me – what you _all_ did to me."

"Whatever I have done, I have done for Asgard – I have done for _you_."

" _Liar_. When you lay with me, _Bent Stick_ , was it for Asgard? Did _Odin_ order you to pleasure his daughter, for the good of Asgard? Or did it please you, in the darkness of your heart, to know that you lay with _Jotun_?"

"It was _not_ like that, Loki." She was making him angry. Even now, she felt a little bit proud of that. She'd always been one of the few capable of making Heimdall lose his cool.

"Wasn't it? You _knew,_ Heimdall. Of _course_ you knew. You, who could see the wind moving through the trees of a distant galaxy. You, who could hear the flutter of a butterfly's wings from the other side of the world. You, who could catch the lies before they had even left my throat. You _knew_ what I was, Heimdall. How many times could you have told me?"

For his part, Heimdall did not look away. He never did. "The truth of your blood was not mine to tell," he admitted, and for the first time his fingers touched the glass between them.

"You _lied_ to me. For all my life, you have lied to me. I am Loki Silvertongue, the snake in the grass, the deceiver, the mischief-maker and the lie-weaver – but never, _never_ would I tell a lie like this. _Never_ would I have let you live such a lie. You, the man that I–" She choked, averting her gaze and pressing her forehead to the glass. "The man that I _loved_ ," she said finally, and the words ripped through her throat like knives.

"Loki–"

"The man that I _thought_ ," she continued, her fist uncurling to drag her fingernails down the wall, "loved _me_. Heimdall, the man from whom I could not hide." She pressed her fingertips opposite his, acknowledging his gesture for the first time. She watched his hands, hated him for the way they never trembled. Solid as a rock, was Heimdall. "What a fool I was."

"You are no fool. Please, Loki – look at me."

"Would you believe," she said, as if he had not spoken, "that it was the honesty of our relationship that I loved most? I could never lie to you, not really. I used to try – do you remember? I was a child, then. A girl who knew no better than to love the family I'd been told was mine. I never blamed them, then, if they were cold to me. I thought it was my own fault, my own wickedness. I was a wretched little thing; not at all like my sister, not at all worthy of my father's affections. How different do you think it might have been, if I had known?"

"Loki, _please_."

"But _you_ , Heimdall. You, I could not sway with honeyed words. You could see right through me, you could hear the whispers of my soul and see straight to my rotten core. You saw me for what I was, and you did not despise me for it. You could even love me, I thought, love all that I was." She would deny it later, of course – because she was Loki, lie-weaver – but every word of it was true. True to the marrow of her bones and the saltwater on her lashes.

It wouldn't have worked if it wasn't true. Heimdall could always tell when she was lying.

"My love for you was no lie, Loki. Even now, I swear to you my heart is true." She wondered if he was wavering, though she dared not look. The guardian of worlds, the all-seeing keeper of the Bifrost – did it make him sway, to see into her heart? Could her love move mountains, if that mountain was a man?

" _Anyone_ else," she almost sobbed, and she hit the glass with her palm, as if willing it to meet the hand on the other side. "Father – _Odin_ – he has only ever had broken promises to give. Thor was never anything to me but a thief of my dreams, the taker of all that I wished could be mine. Even…" She hesitated at the thought of Frigga, at the thought of the woman who had only ever loved her as a true daughter. "Even _Frigga_ , I could understand, I could see coming. She could naught but do as Odin bade, she was always first his wife. But _you_ , Heimdall? For _you_ to betray me, to let me love you and to lay with me, knowing all the while what I was and what I would never be – if you tore my very heart from my chest it could not possibly hurt more than this." She was silent a moment, nothing but the sound of her own ragged breaths through her teeth. "I might have forgiven you, you know – even then, I might have forgiven you. But when I sought my righteous vengeance, how quick you were to turn your back on all that we had been."

"If you had only come to me, Loki," he said, and she could see now that it took all of his great will not to press too forcefully against the glass. "I would have helped you find a better way, if you had only let me save you from yourself. You turned your back on _all_ of us, Asgard was nearly _lost_ for a temper we knew you could not hold. You would have destroyed yourself and all who cared for you, all for the crime of having loved you too dearly and known you too well. I love you still, Loki Silvertongue, though you may choose not to believe it."

"I believe it," she laughed, a bitter sound, and finally she allowed herself to meet his eyes with her own. She could see herself reflected in them, buried in infinity, a pinprick in the galaxies of all that he surveyed. Could he see how raw it left her, to bare her truths to him here? "I know that you love me, Heimdall Golden-toothed, my shelter from the winds of fate. But for all that you might love me, you have never loved me so much as you love Asgard. As much as you love _Odin_. They have always been first in your heart. It has always been your job to protect them from my kind – so how could I, foolish girl, have expected you to protect me from them?"

He blinked.

For one long, impossible second, Heimdall the all-seeing saw nothing but the contents of his own heart. Loki had won.

She couldn't bring herself to smile.

"I have no magic," he said as his eyes opened, "to mend the heart that I have broken."

"Is there any magic greater," she asked, "than true love's kiss?"

"Loki," he warned.

" _Heimdall_. Look at me. Listen to the heart that you have broken, and know that I speak true. One kiss is all I ask. One kiss, and perhaps I might believe that you could love me as much as you love Asgard. I ask for nothing else: not freedom, not weaponry, not second chances. Only a kiss, Silvertongue and Golden-teeth, a kiss to sustain me."

Lying was never the hard part. The hard part was knowing the right way to tell the truth.

He'd lost the moment he'd closed his eyes, so it was no surprise when Heimdall entered her cell. That didn't stop her heart from beating faster, her stomach from twisting itself into knots. It took everything not to throw herself at him, to bury herself in his arms. She was not that girl anymore, and she would not be again.

His kiss tasted like honey, impossibly gentle for a man so large and so solid, none of the urgency that Loki had always felt when they had kissed. It used to be that when he kissed her so softly, she would take his head in her hands and press her mouth to his with such ferocity that her lips would bruise.

She hadn't known better than to love him, then.

The spell wound its way through him before he'd even realized it had begun. Frozen solid, trapped in his moment of weakness for everyone to see. It would be humiliating, when they found him.

"You're a fool," she whispered into lips of ice. His eyes were still open, watching – she wondered what he would say, if he could speak. "Only a fool sees a snake for what it is and brings it close enough to bite." She caressed his cheek, and wondered why it was that she was still crying. "Only a fool tries to warm the heart of an ice princess." She gave him a gentle pat, stepping away to wipe crystals of ice from her cheeks. "You let yourself love me as much as I loved you," she explained with a grin, crooked and false as all her smiles seemed to be. "Which means that _now_ – now I can hurt you as deeply."

Loki was a woman, now. She knew better, now, than to love.

She would never forgive them – _any_ of them – for the fact that she loved them anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not so much the beginning of the end as it is the end of the beginning. This particular story is done, but there should - hopefully! - be more to come. Thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed (and sorry to anyone who read and did not).


End file.
